Taking the Girl
by silly-bint
Summary: Starts off as Spike's POV of 'Crush' and then turns AU. Spuffy. Please R&R even if you hate it.


- 'nature never did betray the heart that loved her'

William Wordsworth

// Spike's thoughts //

dialogue borrowed from 'Crush'

// I should have known from the moment I opened my mouth that it was useless. All my efforts of trying to change had up till then been ignored but I had decided then and there to do it. I was going to talk to Buffy; actually try and string syllables together that weren't lathed with hate. It still sounds ridiculous when repeating it in my head that I can barely believe it. Spike the Bloody was going to attempt to talk to a girl with no intent of murder or debauchery.

It was complete lunacy.

It did help that her friends were busy dancing when I decided to try. Each was paired off with their significant others, ignorant of the Slayer and her loneliness. I even had an opening liner picked out and everything. I can remember sauntering up to her and throwing myself down into the Whelp's chair. I had tried desperately to change my clothing, swapping the sacred leather duster for a brown leather jacket, with a blue shirt beneath.

"_Bleeding crime is what it is" _I remarked_. "Especially since the flowering onion got remodeled right off the sodding menu."  
_

Her blonde hair seemed to glow around her as Buffy looked at me in disbelief. It made me wonder whether it was the surprise of having a decent conversation with a man after Captain Cardboard, or the fact that it was me, which made her speechless. After a moment she recovered, scrunching up her nose and narrowing her eyes. Even then she still looked pretty. Helplessly I continued on, leaning back into the chair and attempting to appear nonchalant. I think she got some small sense of pleasure just watching me try to entertain her, and just for a moment a smile would tug at her lips. Not that it did either of us any good. The bloody clothes I had picked out didn't even seem to make an impression upon her. I should have known that shopping assistant was lying. A blue shirt does nothing for my eyes if she fails to notice it.

"_What are you doing?" _she demanded.

The hint of irritation in her voice didn't even phase me. I just continued to lean back and look at her. Dressed casually in a red top and black leather paints she appeared glorious. Like a golden seraph come to wipe me out of existence, which I'm certain she felt like doing right then. When she wakes, I can only expect that desire to off me to become second nature. I stumbled out an answer of course, bringing up that Glory chit when she didn't believe I was genuinely trying to be friendly.

It didn't help.

The raising of her eyebrows and tightness of her lips warned me that rejection was imminent. I could almost feel the power which radiated out of her. Each angry breath spoke of a natural role, a calling, something so pure that Captain Cardboard had run rather than live in its shadow. I know that I would bloody well bask in it. As though seeing my insight, Buffy stared off into the distance, unable to hide her depression.

She mourned its existence. Her calling had become the thing that kept her from normality, rather than the role which gave her definition. Instead of accepting it she had dragged herself to a hell-hole of a club and watched her friends dance to exuberant pop music. If I didn't play guitar I would have learned the violin for her. Played a couple of bars of 'Misery Loves Company' and be done trying to cheer her up. No one in their right mind should miss Captain Cardboard anyway.

"_Hey evil dead, you're in my seat."_

The sound of the Whelp's voice didn't surprise me. I had already known that from the minute I sat down the Buffy patrol squad would be notified. They of course did not disappoint, the demon hanging off the whelp as Red and Glinda followed behind. Looking at their gleaming faces I wondered how Buffy could stand it. Staring them in the eyes and knowing with clarity that they could never see you. The idea of them standing there, failing to recognise that half of your core was predatory and not human, made me sick. It stunk of the narrow minded views of my peers in the 1880's. Mind you, my poetry was fairly awful, but the ignorance of their views was overpowering. The same condescending grin which had graced Cecily's face was plastered on the Whelps.

I really need to get over that.

The Whelp within a few moments was successful in ousting me from the seat, yet I did manage to get some revenge. The boy was silly enough to have left his change within easy reach and I nicked it, deciding to get plastered. I knew that whilst the Slayer was around her mates, I didn't have a hope in hell. After a few moments the thick git realised I had flogged his money and charged over after me.

Alot of what the Whelp says is rubbish, merely male posturing and a piss poor attempt at that. The way he lumbered over only made me snigger in my drink. Some idiots may have found him intimidating but after living with Angelus, the boy was like a child. I have to admit though, there are similarities between the two. Granted my poof of a grandsire has become skilful at brooding but with time the boy could come to match him. They also were equally pathetic at threatening me. From the moment I chose the name of Spike in a dirty sewer under London, the only way Angelus could truly hurt me was to steal Dru. I had no such worries with the Whelp. His joking demeanor hid knowledge of his faults, purely human in nature but nonetheless present. If Buffy ever did decide to darken his doorstep it would ultimately fall into ruin. The girl obviously needed a monster in her man to combat her own. Unluckily for the Whelp I was determined to let her know exactly what I was, well and truly before any such catastrophe could occur. You learn that lesson quickly, when forced to listen to the pleasured screams of your sire as she's fucked into the wall.

The boy started to prattle on for several unending minutes before I decided to tune in. In retrospect it really wasn't worth the effort. All he can ever seem to come up with as conversation is the chip and my subsequent limitations. I guess that maybe for him it is a shining beacon of hope, without the bloody chip in my head, I would have killed him long ago. A part of him hopefully has realised this; I don't want there to be any misunderstandings when I finally do get the gadget out and give him a severe walloping for his mouth. And there I go again… can't even kill the Whelp anymore because I'd feel guilty. Maybe it was better to listen to Xander and ignore my own issues.

"_Listen bleach boy, I'm not the one with the chip in my head."_ Asserted Xander, looming over me.

I hadn't caught his opening accusation but it seemed fairly clear where the big oaf was going with his speech. His meaty fists were clenched tightly against his sides as he regarded my stolen beer with anger. To taunt him I took another sip, pretending to relish the taste even as what I saw caused me to choke. Where moments before the Slayer had been sitting with her friends, she now was approaching another man. My demon was going insane with rage. The Whelp oblivious to the world as much to others, continued on, only halting for breath. A litany of questions began to fill my head as I watched her take a seat. What was so interesting about him? Where did he come from? How did she know him? I half turned to ask the boy beside but decided against it. I had had enough of his silly taunts. The slayer was sitting closer to him now, her blooming smile lighting up that part of the room. In response my demon began to shake in anger. What can he do for her that I can't? I scanned his features and began to list them in my head for future reference:

- boring brown hair

- oversized chin, ungraceful when compared against Kirk Douglas

- shifty

Fidgety even, I noted when watching his eyes flitter back to Buffy and the ground. There was something wrong with him, beyond the normal issues of nervousness. Smelling the air, my eyebrows rose in surprise, besides an unhealthy amount of fear he stunk of… perfume?

Where in the bleeding hell does Buffy find these guys?


End file.
